


Rumors of My Death

by Erisandmira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Attend Hogwarts Together, M/M, Obsessive Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Sweet Harry Potter, Tom Riddle in Harry Potter's timeline, Tom is two years younger than Harry, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erisandmira/pseuds/Erisandmira
Summary: Merope Gaunt kept using the love potion on Tom Riddle Sr. for several of years after getting pregnant, the result; Harry and Tom meet at the graveyard.





	1. Did you hear?

_“Did you hear?”_

Between roughly 6 and 9 of the neighborhood ladies enjoyed the privilege of being invited to partake in one of Privet Drive long-held social traditions: The weekly Sunday lunch, a gathering for the respectable members of their small community, which one could quickly find oneself excluded from if the oldest members deemed you unworthy.

For someone like Petunia Dursley, who was especially conscious of how others perceived her, such social humiliation was unbearable, therefor she went through great length to always stay in their good grace. When she was once again chosen to host the get-together, she worked tirelessly to prepared an excellent buffet lunch and provide a hospitable setting, for which she received a small nod of approval from the notoriously difficult to please Mrs. Thompson.

So, she was in high spirits when Mrs. Williams spoke one of the most frequent uttered phrases of their lunches; ´Did you hear? ´

Petunia sipped her tea before asking, “Hear what?”

“About the incident with the Riddles,” Mrs. Williams whispered in delight, immediately capturing the attention of all the attendees, and knew it, judging by her smug expression. Her voice carried all the way from the dinner room to where Harry laid hidden in the cupboard, trying to be very quietly and generally pretending not to exist.

“No, has something happened?” The young and pretty Mrs. Sallow asked with a definite note of curiosity in her voice.

The unusual Riddle family was popular topic of gossip among the residents of Privet Drive. Judging looks and mean-spirited comments followed trio from the moment they moved into the shabby house at the far most corner of the street. There were numerous reasons for this; Their house always remained unkempt, the pair rarely socialized and Mr. Riddle was _unemployed_! But, the most important reason was undoubtedly the fact that the family was downright bizarre.

Mr. Riddle was a tall, handsome man with aristocratic features, while his wife was a withered and frankly, ugly creature. Their union was often mocking referred as an example of ´ Beauty and the Beast´, and the consensus among the community was that it was unnatural; like a warped joke taken too far.

Their demon spawn was a troublemaking nightmare, if the teachers at St. Grogory’s Primary School could be believed. And thus, it had become a universally acknowledged fact that the Riddles was no good.

“Certainly, something very horrible has happened,” Mrs. Williams paused for dramatic effect, enjoying how everyone was listening with rapture, “The Riddles has been murdered!” 

There was an audible gasp from every single one of them, and justly so, people didn’t just get murdered in their peaceful little corner of the world.

“Surely you jest!” Petunia eventually managed to speak out.

Mr. Williams gave a sniff of disapproval, “I would never jest about such a grim matter.”

And while the strict glare leveled at Petunia could fool one to think Mr. Williams did in fact take this very seriously, her smug smile when she continued suggested she thought of this as great entertainment.

“I heard it from a very credible source, you see, my brother was discussing it with the police chief this morning.”

“What utterly terrible news! How could such tragedy find place here?” Mrs. Sallow cried and none of the attendees could gauge if the sentimental was sincere. For you see, Mrs. Sallow was known to harbor an especially vicious dislike for the Riddles. The cause of this was, unbeknownst to everyone, that she had tried to seduce the handsome Mr. Riddle, who had cruelly rejected her with an almost robot-like disposition. This was very galling to her pride, seeing as she had always regarded herself a great beauty, and could not for the life of her understand what he saw in Mrs. Riddle.

They broke out in mutters of; “Outrages!” “Good Lord!” “Horrible, just horrible,” interrupted by the soft voice of Mrs. Fernsby fearfully asking “Is there a murder on the loose? M-my children are home alone right now!”

And with that an air of uneasiness and dread invaded the dinning room, intensified by the heavy drops of cold autumn rain drumming on the window. The ladies exchanged alarmed looks, the possibility of them or their love ones being next quickly gaining focus. They swapped more frightening scenarios that only added to the creeping panic before the stern Marjorie Dursley put a stop to it.

Petunia’s sister-in-law debunked that idea by adequately pointing out, "Nonsense. Mark my words, this incident is no doubt a result of their abnormality, and nothing any one here should fear to get involved in.”

And that was something everyone in the room desperately wanted to believe, so they accepted it. Their voices dropped to a lower volume after that and Harry could only catch snippets, but there seemed to be an agreement that whatever happened, the Riddles had probably caused themselves. 

-

Harry Potter, commonly referred to as ´boy´ or ´freak´ by his relatives, was 9 years old. He was short, scrawny and wore oversized clothes that made him look like a street urchin. According to his relatives, this was more than he deserved, and he should be very grateful they even bothered to take him in. Every day they tolerated his presence was a saintly accomplishment on their part, and the least he could do was help around the house to not completely leech of their generosity.

However, as Harry tried to frequently remind himself, there was more to him than his relatives opinion.

Harry Potter liked playing football, but he hated that he was always being picked last, it was not fair, he played much better than many of the other boys. Math was his favorite subject in school, mostly because the teacher was nice to him, and history his least. He could run very fast, hold his breath for 2 whole minutes and sneak around very quietly (all three abilities had served him well).

Another thing you must know about Harry Potter, was that he was very, very lonely.

With no parents or friends to speak of, his cousin Dudley made sure of the later one, the boy spent most of his days in lonesomeness. He did not partake in the raging gossip about the murder of the Riddles, for he had no one to discuss it with, but he heard enough to be horrified over it.

“Did you hear? Mr. Riddle bashed his wife’s head against the wall, there was apparently blood splattered everywhere!”

“Did you hear? He choked his son half to death?”

“Poor kid!”

“And, and?”

“Well, the thing is, no one understand how Mr. Riddle died. The doctors can't verify the cause of death.”

“I heard his heart exploded!”

Every piece of gossip and speculation was spoken with morbid enthusiasm, often carrying a malicious undertone, as thought enjoying a tremendous scandal. Nobody wasted much breath pretending to feel very sad about the Riddles, for they had been most unpopular. In fact, the opposite was frequently displayed. Many participated in gleeful mocking of the deceased couple.

“That Mr. Riddle was not right in the head, all right. At least that _does_ explain his marriage choice.”

Every time Harry heard them, he felt something twist in his stomach, and he would get unbearably warm, like he was boiling over. It just felt…_wrong_. What happened to the Riddles was tragic, wasn’t it? It was not like he personally know the youngest Riddle, well; he had seen him around in school sometimes, but Tom was 2 years younger than him, and thus they had little reasons to interact. Nor did he know the Riddles, and yet, he wasn’t able to treat what happened with the same callous everyone else exhibited. He couldn’t connect the horrific news with the thrilled manner everyone was talking about it. Yet, he seemed to be the only one finding it odd.

Even the weather on the funereal day for Merope Riddle was inappropriate; Bright shining sun and clear blue skies did very little to convey a mournful mood fitting for a last goodbye to a love one. Indeed, the only source of gloominess was the young Tom Riddle.

The young child was momently discharged from hospital and had a nurse accompanying him (Harry heard derisive whispers of the Riddles, his grandparents, not daring to show their face). The white bandage around his neck stood painfully out against his black mourning clothes.

Harry gravitated towards him under the ceremony, drawn in by the dark despondency he was emitting, like a black hole sucking in all light around him. That's not to say he looked sad exactly; there was no crying or screaming. Tom’s face was blank throughout the whole affair, never changing, his eyes dulled with emptiness.

Harry was hit with the unreasonable fear that Tom’s soul had already left his body and that he would crumble to dirt any moment. However, he couldn’t quite muster up the courage to talk to him. What could he even say?

“What an odd child.”

Harry wiped his head to the side, where two women were conversing not so quietly, and winched when the woman continued with, “It his mother’s funeral and he has not shed one tear. “

Said child only stood a short distance away, and could probably hear them just as well as Harry if the slight trembling of his shoulders were any indication.

The other woman nodded solemnly, before adding with a snide tone “It is very _unnatural_.”

It was then Harry made a decision that would lead him to be locked away in his cupboard for two weeks, only allowed to come out to go to the bathroom, and receiving minimum food that would leave him too hungry to properly sleep.

One might speculate that he did this because it was the right thing to do, that those women were behaving very unfitting to the point he felt morally obligated to speak out. Or one might think it was out of compassion for the seven-year old who’s breathing became irregular the second the word ´unnatural´ was spoken, but neither of those explanations would be sufficient.

Harry acted because he was the insignificant child of a dead-beat drunk and a stupid tramp that died in a car accident. A cheater, bully and troublemaker; A freakish boy who, no matter what he did, couldn’t make his aunt and uncle happy.

Harry acted because _he_ had been subjected to does same condescending and mocking remarks his whole life, and seeing someone else go through made him see for the first time how incredible _wrong_ it was. And fierce anger, one that had always been suppressed by a sense of hopelessness, erupted in full force.

“Hey!” He turned towards them, making the women jump in fear, they turned their startled gaze at him, and Harry pointing an accusatory finger at them, “We can _all_ hear you. And the only unnatural thing here are you two acting so mean to someone who just lost their parents!”

They looked at Harry positively scandalized, mouths gaping and everything, but Harry paid them no mind. He spun around and grabbed Tom’s hand, ice cold as it was, and ran.

And run they did, all the way through the cemetery that twisted like contorted bones, careless of the countless corpses that rested beneath them. All Harry could think was that they needed to get away from this place, to leave the sorrows and despairs behind, and Tom surprisingly enough kept up with a deadly grip on Harry’s hand.

Harry’s feet almost slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as they rounded the corner, the cold air shocking his throat and lungs as he inhaled deeper, faster. Eventually, they stopped, both exhausted and their hearts beating heavily.

Harry’s chest heaved as he struggled to control his breathing, and when he lifted his head to see how Tom was faring, he was meet with dark eyes locked at him. Tom Riddle was unabashedly staring at him with an intensity that left him flustered with embarrassment.

Letting out a nervous laugh, Harry felt awkwardness sink in as he realized that had essentially pulled a stranger away from his mother funeral. Mortified he quickly tried to let go of Tom’s hand, but the other boy tightened his grip at the first sign of struggle.

Despite being younger than him, Tom Riddle was barley any shorter than him, something that became adamantly clear when he stepped closer, their faces only a few inches apart. Harry blinked, Tom had a very doll like face, the lines of his face are smooth and pale and his dark hair orderly despite all the running. When he spoke, his voice came out as soft and careful, “Who are you?”

“Erm, I-I,” Harry stammered, believe it or not, it was not often he was asked that question, “Potter, Harry Potter.”

For a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, Tom said nothing. Instead the younger boy continued to stare at him with those deep, greyish brown eyes that imitated black. And then, he said very softly, as though the words were something precious he loathed to part with, “_Harry Potter_.”

Silence descended on them once again, as Tom seemed perfectly happy to just drink in Harry’s features, unlike Harry who was getting increasingly uncomfortable. He…he just didn’t know what to say. He had also lost his parents, but he had been too young to really understand it at the time. Not mention neither of them had murdered the other, except aunt Petunia did occasionally mutter that his father got his mother murdered — presumably by being the one drunk driving — but he didn’t think it was comparable. At least he was reasonable certain none of them tried to kill him.

His eyes darted around, desperate for a solution; any solution, before settling on the bandage around Tom’s neck. Once more a feeling of profound sadness overcome him. So, as earnestly as he has ever been, he said, “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

Startled, as if never expecting those words, Tom’s eyes widened. Then Harry witness the most heartbreaking sight as the younger boy started to tremble. Harry managed to free his hand so that he could pull Tom into a hug. He was not certain if he was doing it correctly, seeing as he hadn’t received many hugs himself, but he knew he had made the right call when Tom clutched to him as though he was a lifeline.

They stayed together until the nurse finally found them and took Tom back to the hospital, and despite the harsh punishment that followed from the Dursley, Harry managed to smuggle a get-well card to Tom through a sympathetic teacher.


	2. If asked

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was a lively mass of chaos and noise; pulsating with the sound of carts being hauled around, squawking owls and stamping feet. A palpable excitement buzzed through the air, charging every friendly reunion and tearful goodbye, appropriate for the beginning of a new school year.

In midst of all this turmoil, Tom and Benjamin Riddle stood facing each other impassively. Since navigating through the many men in suits and women with handbags bustling by King’s Cross, and passing the barrier that separated their worlds, the pair had been locked in a strangling mess of a goodbye. 

For you see, Benjamin Riddle was trying — despite wishing to be anywhere else — to pass on something that resembled a heartfelt sendoff to his grandson. Thinking that he should, considering what he and the absent member of their little family was trying to do, at least offer Tom this.

“Take care, Tom,” Benjamin breathed out shakily, “be a good student, alright? Mind your manners, and…”

Tom gave him a decidedly unimpressed stare as his voice started to trail off, resembling his grandmother so strongly that Benjamin felt a lump form in his throat. He had to turn away from Tom a bit, beset by regret and remorse for the first time, but he knew that these feelings wouldn’t change anything. 

Elizabeth Riddle had always been the strong one of them, and in different circumstances, it would have been she who was here with Tom. She would sternly remind their grandson to uphold the family legacy; to be a resourcefulness, ambitious and brilliant. But this was not different circumstances, and all Tom had was a grandfather who wanted to wash his hands off him.

The young boy turned around to board the train that would lead him to a new world, his past attachments crumbling behind him as he heard his grandfather’s last words to him;

“We’ll be traveling for a while overseas, so don’t worry about coming home for Christmas.”

-

It is said that those who have lost everything once spend the rest of their life fearing that the ground bellow them might collapse again, but Tom had found a treasure buried in the bottom, and he feared more than anything that it would be claimed by someone else.

-

The conductor yelled out the last boarding call and began to snap shut the train’s doors. A mother clung fiercely to her son, before she reluctantly allowed him to break away and scurry on board the train at the last moment. The train came alive underneath them, whining and groaning, and started to pull away slowly, the mother jog lightly beside it, waving tearfully.

Tom was leaning against the window, from which he observed the scene, and let out a small scoff. How pathetic. It seemed like belonging to the magical population didn’t prevent people from behaving shamefully in public.

“Public display of emotion, especially those showcasing weakness, is only fitting for the lower-class. And Tom,” Elizabeth’s mouth did something odd and unpleasant when she looked at him, “You are a Riddle, and that means you are better then that.”

The memory of his grandmother made him close his eyes, as though to shut out the pain, and he desperately sought out a distraction. Unfortunately, his mind decided to imagen how his sendoff would have played out if his parents had been with him.

He might have been more excited, without the bitter taste of abandonment souring his mood. The quality of his wardrobe and equipment would have been reduced, but he might not have minded it.

Instead of the elder Riddles wealth and tutelage, he would have had his mother gentle smile glancing down at him, her features soften by equal measurements of fondness and forgetfulness. She would have fussed over him, on the verge of a breakdown at the thought of him leaving. And his fath — that _man_, might have diverted his attention from the love of his life long enough to acknowledge his offspring.

Unsurprisingly, the conjured image brought little comfort, so, Tom didn’t allow himself to linger on it.

His compartment was blissfully silent — all thanks to the tie hanging on its door, it seemed like it was a universal sign that something obscene was happening inside. Who would have guessed listing to his grandfather’s boarding school stories would prove so beneficial?

Perched on the passably comfortable train seat, Tom reached down for the book stocked away in his very expensive trunk, which was equipped with all types of enhancements. It was the best the store had to offer, and he had; because he is Tom Riddle, taken every opportunity to milk out as much money as he could from his grandparents. It was only fair after all.

The book was titled ‘The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts’ and bookmarked with a beloved card — a messy ‘Get well soon’ scrawled across it. Tom had read it a dozen-hundred times, with that kind of devotion one would applied to studying a bible, yet he never tired of it. The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts contained details of how one boy survived the mighty Lord Grindelwald’s attack; The Boy Who Lived.

Tom felt his bad mood melted away; A eager, electrified, joy-filled tremor taking its place.

His Harry, for it was no doubt _his_ Harry, had been involved with a revolutionary manic, who had terrorized Europe for a decade. No one understood why the German wizard had traveled to all the way England, which had previously been spared most of his terror, but on the evening of Hallowe'en in 1981, Lord Grindelwald arrived at Godric's Hollow and murdered James and Lily Potter. It was believed that when the man attempted to curse Harry, it backfired on him, and instead of murdering the child, Grindelwald himself was obliterated.

(The book also briefly mentioned an ex-convict from an old family being found dead, as a possible servant of the dark lord, but it would take years before Tom gave it more thoughts.)

The thing was; Tom had also survived a murder attempt that cost him his family. Similarly, Tom gave the man trying to murder him a gruesome death, but instead of fame and hero-worship, all Tom received in the aftermath was pitying/ disgusted looks and countless therapy hours.

Given the circumstances, this was somewhat understandable, but since a comparison could be drawn, Tom loathed to fall short. It felt like bad omen for their relationship. Like Tom would always be unworthy.

Still, the thought of sharing something with Harry, no matter how grim, made Tom grin.

_Soon_.

-

Hogwarts was magnificent, even compared to the castles him and his grandparents had visited, glowing with magic and greatness. In a different world, Tom would have loved it as a home, but in this reality ‘home’ was tainted with instability and rejection, so he didn’t. For why get attached to something that would kick him out after 7 years?

On the inside were four long tables with a least two hundred students each, perhaps even more. Banners from lion to eagle to badger to serpent and back again, hanged above the tables clear for all to see.

The sorting, which had not been described in any of his books, turned out to be done by an old hat, a _sing_ old hat. His grandmother had once told him that if one insisted on taking a performing sort of hobby, one better at least be good at it, inflicting mediocrity upon an audience was an unforgivable act of rudeness. 

The chatting of the children died down as the sorting began. Anticipation, anxiety and impatience all present in abundance. Some had strong preferences, others were indifferent, and a few had objections to certain houses. Time matched on as names were called and fates decided. 

Outwardly, Tom appeared composed, but his mind was furiously racing on the inside. For the truth was, one he had hard time admitting even to himself occasionally, that it was very hard to deciphering someone’s nature in one meeting. Much less one that happened years ago and lasted about a half hour. It was essential that he shared house with his Harry, so that he would always be within reach, and so that he could have easy access to his room and presence. But, Tom had no certain way of knowing which house he was in.

From where Tom was waiting for his name to be called, all the students look the same, pallid and tanned blurs in black robes and hats. He couldn’t see Harry no matter how hard he tried, and time was running out.

But, if Tom had to take a guess, which he unfortunately had to, the house of courage, chivalry, and willpower seemed most likely. After all, Harry’s actions the day they meet were the epitome of bravery and nobleness.

So, Gryffindor it is. Tom would make the sorting hat see things his way, with whatever means necessary. Perhaps with bribery first, surely there must be something that talking hat desired or feared, and the second it exposed it weakness, Tom would strike and achieve his goals.

“RIDDLE, TOM!” The Deputy Headmistress yelled.

Tom bit back the wave of anger when he walked toward her, it wouldn’t do to display his hatred openly, better to put forth a false amiability so she wouldn’t expect retaliation the for what she did.

He seated himself on the stool with a grace that had been drilled into him for years, face impassive, as McGonagall placed the Hat on his head.

“Huh,” said the hat, low and rumbling, inside his head, before declaring, a split second after being placed on his head, ”SLYTHERIN!”

“…”

-

Tom Riddle, if asked whether he loved his grandmother or not, would answer no. It was almost true. Elizabeth Riddle was prideful, cruel and set impossible high standards. She had little tolerance for failure and a strong hatred for weakness.

Their appearance couldn’t be different; Black curls against blond-tinted silver hair and dark orbs versus pale blue eyes. And yet, stripped of the superficial skin clothing them, the same type of creature lurked beneath.

He felt a greater kinship with her than any other member of his family. Her words, her opinion, her companionship had meant a lot to him. He had strived very hard to earn the little bit of approve that had been stripped away from him carelessly, in one visit, and he would never forgive his Transfiguration professor for it.

Family is such a fragile thing.

-

Tom’s new housemates welcome had been far from warm, the applause the dullest of the whole sorting, and a few openly sneered at him. However, the Riddle surname had prompted far nastier responses, and Tom had dealt with a prejudice tailored specifically to his trauma for years, so, it didn’t really register.

He had spent most of the meal scanning his table for Harry and inwardly seethed when he couldn’t locate him. So, he covered up his disappointment by focusing on eating the food with impeccable table manners.

The next day, he made sure to wake up early, partly because he was excited to be learning about magic, but mostly to form a new plan to get close to Harry. Now that different houses created another barrier between them, as though two years separating them wasn’t enough, he would have to be careful in approaching him. It wouldn’t do to look like a fan.

One of his roommates disturbed his thoughts by rudely asked if he planned to share the butter he was applying to his bread.

Tom gave him a haughty look, “Surely, there is more than one bowl of butter in this table, _please_ tell me you were raised better than to squabble over food.”

Orion Black almost gaped in shock.

With a dismissive last glance, Tom returned his attention to his breakfast and plans. First step, confirm which house Harry was in, then observing him to find out weaknesses, and afterwards orchestrate a chance meeting which Tom could casually brings up having lived in Private Drive, and then-

“Hey there, Tom!” A gentle voice called out behind him, making Tom’s stomach-flutter and heart beat erratically, it couldn’t be!

The slytherin turned around to meet brilliant emerald green framed by black spectacles. There he was. His Harry. He had become taller, with sun-kissed skin, but hair was just as messy as Tom remembered- a feast for Tom’s eyes alone. Harry remembered him! He even approached him.

“Potter, what are you- hey! You can’t just sit down on the Slytherin table,” a pale-blonde boy shrieked from the other end of the table, noticing Harry almost immediately, despite being so far away. Had he called Harry by his first name, Tom might have thrown a curse at him, his experiments on the stray cats that wandered around the Riddle manor had shown he had talent in that area. 

“Sod off, Malfoy,” was the only responds Harry bothered to offer him, his attention aimed solely on Tom (as it should).

Barely calming the excitement humming through his body, Tom managed to say, composed and smoothly, “H-hello, Harry.”

A bright smile bloomed on Harry’s face, blinding in it beauty, and Tom felt just a little lost in it.

“Heh, I wasn’t certain you remembered me,” Harry said, which was an utterly ridiculously thing to say, but Tom was not about to point that out.

The silence stretched out a little too long as Tom just stared at him, lost for words despite having imagined this reunion for years, but Harry just shoot him a soft look.

“But I’m glad you do, how have you been Tom?”

Terrible. Depressed. Lonely.

“Good,” Tom responded, for now that Harry was here, things were good.

-

In the following weeks, Tom spend a lot of time Harry. The older boy showed him around the school, which Tom enjoyed, and introduced him to his friends, which Tom enjoyed less. When the initial awed awkwardness passed, Tom managed to speak more freely to Harry, showcasing his brilliance and intelligent.

Harry was particularly impressed with his magical prowess, as were the teachers, but they were less important. Ranking even below that, were his housemates, who constantly asked how he knew The-Boy-Who-Lived, as if he would share his secrets to them.

Speaking of his housemates, in the middle of his second week in Hogwarts, Harry carefully asked, “Tom, are your housemates give you any trouble?”

To which Tom could only blink. His housemates? He had honestly not spared them much thought.

And they had, unbeknownst to Tom, taken notice of this. Tom’s utter discarded for their presences and intimidation tactics had caused a lot of confusion in the slytherin house, especially third year and below. Opinions where split on the matter, but because of his dismissiveness and association with Harry, the consensus was that he couldn’t possibly be a mudblood.

“His family must be foreign, probably from one of the countries terrorized by Grindelwald, hence his friendship with Potter.”

“Oh, isn’t there a Riddle family in Poland? Those involved with- with….potions I believe?”

“That _would_ explain his attitude. My uncle lives there and he told me those guys are always grumbling about England not helping out in the war.”

When made aware of his housemate’s conspiracy theories, Tom would initially play along bemused, before quickly taking advantage of those misconceptions.

But for the moment, a blank stare was all his housemates prompted from him. Harry hurried to assure him, completely misunderstanding the reason for Tom’s reaction, and gave him a comforting smile, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, just know that I would help out if you ever need it!”

His sweet Harry, always so unfailingly good to him.

-

Professor Minerva McGonagall had visited countless of muggle-borns houses, tasked to explain the magic world to them, and convince the families to send their children to Hogwarts.

If asked how her visit to the Riddle family was, she would say that it was nothing noteworthy, except maybe comment on the fine manor they lived in, or the pleased look on young Tom Riddle’s face when she proclaimed him a wizard, as though he had always known.

His grandparents fell into a strange sort of silence McGonagall attributed to shock. Though, when she thought more about it, Elizabeth Riddle asked a rather strange question just as McGonagall turned to leave.

Her face remained carefully blank as McGonagall answered yes to her question, and McGonagall, busy as she was, there was still three other muggle-borns to visit that day, didn’t think much over it.

“Tell me, can your _kin_…..force someone to fall in love with them?”

-

Reuniting with Harry, getting to know him and spending time with him — was the greatest gift the magic world had given to him. He could almost forgive it for what it stole from him, with every month that went by without any word from his grandparents, but Tom had never been the forgiven type.

And yet, there was no bitterness that Christmas, which he spent with Harry, who also stayed in Hogwarts and said —

“My relatives don’t like magic either, “ then Harry stared right into his soul, but instead of shrieking away, he proclaimed them alike.

And Tom —

Tom wanted, wanted, wanted, wanted so badly that it physically hurt. He wondered when exactly his definition of happiness became a name and a face; Harry, Harry, Harry —

And Tom also wondered, for a split second, if this was how his mother had felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't plan to update so fast, but the response on this made me so happy that I couldn't help it? Thank you very, very much for all the kudoes and for those of you commented; I appreciate it greatly, honestly, I re-read them while taking breaks to write this chapter and they always re-energized me to write more.
> 
> Hehe, please let me know what you think about this chapter! Next chapter is titled, 'Enemies of the Heir, Beware'.


	3. Enemies of the Heir, Beware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited it a bit.

Later that year, Harry Potter would discover a cryptic message, written in _blood_, on the First-floor corridor wall. He would also discover a petrified Mrs Norris, the pet cat of the much-disliked caretaker Argus Filch, but no one cared much about that. The message would be dismissed as an ill-thought-out prank at first, but as more followed, a raising alarm would grow. It would mark the beginning of a year spent in fear and concern for some, and a source of amusement for others.

However, that would be much later that year, and all Harry was discovering in present time was that the tryouts for the Gryffindor Quidditch team was turning into a disaster.

Ginny observed him from the corner of her eye, catching him trying to hold back a wince as they both witnessed yet another collision between two overeager candidates. The mock game was turning into a compilation of senseless injuries, and Ginny was impressed Harry was keeping his temper. Then again, it was very typical of Harry to demonstration saint-like patience when dealing with his admiring-fans.

As the youngest Quidditch player in more than a hundred years, Harry early on gained a fan-base that increased with each match he played. Those bumbling idiots on the air, were no doubt part of his following, if the multiple glances they shot him each minute - instead of focusing on the game - could be trusted.

Harry didn’t want to be too harsh on them.

Ginny, on other hand, had no such reservations and yelled, “Hey wankers! You’re supposed to avoid crashing, not facilitate it every chance you get!”

The stupid, grateful smile Harry rewarded her with, made her belly flip over and her heart soar. She tilted her head forward, so that her hair would hide her expression, feeling unjustifiably embarrassed.

Ginny had formerly been an infatuated fan of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, but she had moved passed it as she got to know him. Although…. subtly glancing at him again, Ginny couldn’t help but to notice the way the light danced in his eyes and…. maybe she was less over it than she previously thought?

The realization lingered in back of her head, as she and Harry walked back together to the castle, joking and laughing, but the truth was that Ginny didn’t really plan to do anything about it. She had known Harry long enough to know it would be a futile attempt. Relationships and Harry Potter always ended in catastrophes.

It was like a dark malevolent curse hovered around him in that matter, or in this case, just around the corner observing them with displeased dark eyes. Not that either Harry or Ginny noticed.

-

By the end of their third year, Parvati Patil quickly lost her interest in Harry when Blaise Zabini swept her off her feet. Harry took it with good grace, they had after all, only gone on one date together, so he just shrugged and moved on.

-

Harry Potter, commonly referred to as ‘The Boy Who Lived’ by the public, was 17 years old. And he had, for just a few weeks ago, entered his last year in a school that had changed his life, very, very much. Firstly, it had marked the beginning of his life as a wizard. Secondly, it had been pivotal to unraveling the truth of his parent’s death. And thirdly, it was where he met some of his best friends.

Yes, _friends_.

A lot of things had changed from when he was 9 years old; He had grown a lot taller, though he was still the shortest boy in his year, gained a lot of muscles and confidence and found himself a loving family.

Sirius Black, his godfather or dogfather, had busted into Harry’s life in his fourth year - much like the man busted out of that Nurmengard prison, and gone to court for custody over his godson and to clear his name. It had been quite the chaotic and dramatic affair, which Sirius swore up and down James would have loved, and made many headlines.

So, Harry now lived with a wonderful godfather and a werewolf named Remus, the latter being a new addition since last year, and played Quidditch instead of football. However, as much as things have changed, one thing remained the same:

Harry Potter was still hearing a lot of talk about Tom Riddle.

“Don’t you think Tom Riddle have turned very handsome this year?”

“I was thinking the _exact_ same thing,” followed by giggles, “He is so dark and mysterious, I just swoon every time he speaks!”

“Did you see that duel with Captain Riddle yesterday? It was bloody amazing.”

“He is such an impressive wizard.”

“Do you think Riddle is single?”

And so on, and so on. Had Harry been more observant, he would have noticed that it was often Slytherins that instigated these talks, but he was too distracted by the crushing sadness the subject invoked.

For you see, Tom hadn’t really spoken much to him since the Christmas in his sixth year, and Harry couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. It was not like the younger boy was outright ignoring him per say, but Tom was acting very distant towards him.

Harry would call out greetings to him hallway, something that had usually promoted bright smiles from Tom, but know all Harry received were short nods before Tom returned his attention to his housemates.

He had tried to confront Tom on the matter after two weeks, earnest and wide eyed, he asked; “Tom, are you angry with me?”

“Angry? No, should I be?” Tom answered without slowing his pace or outwardly reacting to Harry’s sudden outburst.

Harry licked his bottom lips nervously, not noticing Tom’s eyes following the motion, still trying to get in the bottom of this, “I don’t know, but you are acting strange, “ he grabbed Tom’s wrist, “And you know that you can tell me if I have done something? I-I know I can be a bit oblivious sometime, but please, tell me if something is wrong.”

His voice ended up come out pleadingly, and he could see Tom’s face twisting oddly for a second, but the Slytherin quickly schooled his expression.

“Don’t worry, Harry. I’m honestly not the slightest bit _angry_ with you,” Tom said, wearing a polite smile that had never been directed at Harry before, and Harry didn’t know what to say.

-

Cho Chang, the receiver of Harry’s first kiss, was much more unfortunate. A Bludger smashed right into the poor girl’s face under a match against Gryffindor, fracturing fragile bones that took very, very long time to fully heal.

For some reason, the girl was not only convinced Harry stood behind it, but also railed ravenclaws against him and almost destroyed his reputation.

Honestly, Harry wouldn’t have survived without Tom’s firm support that year.

-

Coincidentally, Harry discovered the; ‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir... beware’ message shortly after kissing Ginny Weasley, one hour after, precisely. He stood at the scene, dumbfounded, until students started to assemble behind him. No one outright accused him having done it, but headmaster Dumbledore did invite him to his office to question him a bit on the matter.

Which had been an odd experience, he and the headmaster never interacted, expect that one time in first year when Dumbledore had handed him his father’s invisibility cloak.

“It was very unfortunate what happened to your parents,” Dumbledore had said with sincere sadness. 

“Erm-,” Harry had responded, for really, what does one say to that?

Unbeknownst to Harry, he had received the item that gotten his parents killed. Grindelwald already possessing the Elder Wand, managed to track down the two of the other items in England. Or, in the case of the Resurrection Stone, tracked down where it should have been.

(Had Merope Gaunt chosen to take the Slytherin's Locket with her instead, Lord Grindelwald would have possessed all three of the legendary Deathly Hallows before turning his wand at Lily and Harry Potter, and who knows have this story would have turned then?)

Anyway, Harry had shifted in his seat, feeling very uncomfortable and Dumbledore had looked very pensive. Their second meeting was very similar and Harry was very happy when he could finally leave.

So, unaware in more than one way, Harry started to make his way back to his dorm, but his senses, highlighted by the odd discovery earlier, picked up someone watching him. Straightening his back, and slipping his wand to his hand, Harry turned around, and asked, “Okay, whoever you are, if you don’t show yourself I’ll-“

“Duel me?” Tom’s smooth voice questioned, leaning against the wall further down from the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, “I feel obligated to warn you that few emerge victorious after clashing with me.”

The sight of his friend did little to calm Harry’s heart, who felt a new onset of unease as he took in how Tom’s lustrous black hair had grown to reach his shoulder, complementing his pale skin so beautifully. The serpentine smile the younger teen’s curving lips, almost melted Harry into a puddle of nothing. When did Tom start to give of such a seductive, dangerous air?

Tom raised an eyebrow at Harry’s stunned silence, which fortunately, snapped him to speak, “Tom, what are doing here?”

“Waiting for you, of course,” Tom smirked, before pushing himself off the wall to stand beside Harry, and, also, when did Tom get taller than him?

“Waiting for _me_,” Harry repeated doubtfully. Tom hadn’t waited for him or even looked for him in months.

Tom nodded patiently, “I heard what happened and figured you shouldn’t wander off alone.”

How _thoughtful_. Tom did have a habit of always worrying too much. Harry beamed at him and real warmth lit Tom’s eyes at the sight. The two of them stared at each other for a little while. Tom, with ill-concealed fondness. Harry, drinking in the sight which had been unavailable for him these last months.

“How chivalrous of you, I didn’t know Slytherins could display such traits,” Harry teased.

“Don’t be fooled, Harry, I’m doing it out of selfish reasons,” Tom gave him a charming smile that sent shivers racing down Harry's spine.

“Oh? And what reasons are those?”

“To spend time with you,” Tom answered, as if he hadn’t deliberately stayed away from Harry in months. 

-

Cedric Diggory never spoke to Harry again after graduating, Harry could understand that long distance relationship would be challenging, and would have accepted a break up. Cedric not even giving him that pissed him off.

Later, he heard that his ex-boyfriend left England and that no one had heard from him. Kind of odd. 

-

Hermione had stacked her books and notes in a neatly fashion across the table, organized to maximize her studying, and to best prepare her to the N.E.W.T. - which despite Ron complaining that it was 5 months away- need all her attention. It was their last exam in Hogwarts, the results they got on it would shape their future and it was important Hermione did well on it.

Not even the business with the chamber of secrets being open, or whatnot, could distract her from it. After all, no one had been hurt, and it had been a month since the message was found.

A more pressing matter was Harry once again pulling out a chair next to her, and he was probably not here to study this time either. Hermione let out a small sigh and regarded him, noticing how he was smiling in that tense way he did when he was about to vent, and these days the subject rarely varied.

Pinching her nose, she asked, “What have Tom done this time?”

"Tom? Why do you assume I’m here to take about Tom?" Harry protested weakly.

Hermione shot him an unimpressed look.

“Okay…yeah, it is about Tom, but Mione, he is acting distant again! And, I have no idea why.”

“Perhaps it because you started to date Ginny?” Hermione suggested, because, of course that would piss of the love-sick boy that was Tom Riddle.

Harry blinked, then he said uneasily, “Oh, we aren’t’ exactly dating….but you don’t think Tom likes Ginny?”

Hermione swallowed down a scream that would have gotten them both kicked out of the library. Honestly, she didn't have time for this, and neither should Tom Riddle, seeing as how he had his O.W.L year. 

-

The possibility that Tom fancied Ginny left Harry uncomfortable to the point of prolonging his little fling with Ginny a little longer.

Ginny, on the other hand, was growing increasingly dissatisfied with Harry. She had after all, not been the one to initiate the relationship, yet was the one putting must effort in it. At the same time; her mother had been so happy with the news and everyone was acting like she and Harry dating was inevitable. It seemed wrong for her to be the one to break up. So, she continued.

-

The first human victim to be petrified was Colin Creevey, a sweet kind Gryffindor that was rarely seen without his camera.

The second victim was Romilda Vane, a pureblood, which caused a much greater stir, both in the school and in the news.

Harry felt increasingly worried for his friends, particularly Hermione and Tom, who were both muggle-born perfects. Though he only voiced his worries to Hermione and actively spent more time with Tom.

He didn’t really notice how much he was neglecting his girlfriend before the second message was displayed on the wall and Ginny was missing.

_‘Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever’_

It happened on March the third, and the whole school was thrown in unrest. Wild accusation thrown around, fights started after thoughtless jokes and the threat of Hogwarts being shut down looming over everyone’s head.

Harry…Harry was heartbroken. H-he didn’t know how to face the Weasley. Everyone was pitying him for losing his girlfriend, the truth was that he had broken up with her the day before her disappearance. And if he hadn’t, if he had been with her, this…this might not have happened.

Guilt, shame and grief haunted him. Why wasn’t he there for her? Why didn’t he just _know _that she needed help? Wasn’t be supposed to be some kind of savior? And, more selfish, why did this always happened to him?

Somehow the situation got even worse when the culprit was discovered, a Acromantula hidden and raised by Hagrid of all people. It was almost unbelievable, but Ginny’s bloodstain clothes were found by its nest. Though, the monster hadn’t left any body for them to burry.

The sound of Ron’s muffled sobs at night were agonizing, especially when Harry couldn’t comfort his friend. What right did he have to share his grief with Ron, when he was partly responsible for Ginny’s death? This whole thing was twisted, cruel tragedy.

Although, Harry thought a bit hysterically, at least the weather was appropriate on this funeral; Marked by the covering of dull, gray and clouds, that leaked with tears for the injustice that happened to the young Ginny Weasley.

The ceremony passed by quickly for Harry, who was stuck in a daze, and he barely managed to choke out condolences to Molly and Arthur Weasley, who both fiercely hugged him and told he they knew he cared very much for Ginny.

Harry didn’t want to linger, but before he could apparate from the cemetery, a familiar voice called out to him.

Startled, Harry turned around to see Tom Riddle. Then again, it made perfectly to see him standing in the graveyard, wrapped in black mourning clothes.

“Harry,” Tom said again, in that same soft manner - awe, affection and tenderness all wrapped in - that he always used when he spoke his name.

And that was all it took Harry dashed toward him, burrowing himself into the safety of Tom’s arms, which quickly encircled him. The rightness of it almost overwhelming, and Harry breathed deeply, intoxicated by the familiar, unique scent of Tom, feeling his lung with warmth. Harry didn’t know when precisely he started crying, but wasn’t sure how to stop, especially with Tom gently stroking his back.

“I-I should have been there,” Harry said-choked, and drew back a little to stare desperately into Tom’s eyes, “I should have saved her.”

“Sometimes terrible things happen,” Tom said, tightening his hold on Harry, and spoke with calm convection, “But we can’t blame ourselves for things that are out of our control. If you hold on to that guilt, if you allow it fester; it will infect you with rottenness.”

There was something odd about the away Tom said those words, Harry couldn’t put a finger on it exactly, but maybe it was that it sounded almost rehearsed. Like Tom had spoken them out loud many times, maybe he had, maybe, it was what he told himself after what happened to his parents.

Harry slumped, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of relief. That was right. Tom understood grief, he was safe with him.

There were no one there to separate them this time, so Tom dragged Harry with him to the Riddle manor, where they were undisturbed. After all, Tom’s grandparents hadn’t return there for years. With Tom’s weight above him, and Tom’ breath tingling his neck, Harry fell into peaceful sleep for the first time in months.

In the morning, Harry thought he felt feather-light pecks on the tip his nose, temple, forehead, and the faintest brush against his bottom of his lip. However, it must have been his imagination, because Tom was sitting on his deck when Harry opened his eyes.

“What are you writing?” Harry yawned.

Tom turned his head to the side to look at Harry, the sunlight illuminating his dark eyes, revealing the rich brown hues. Tom smirked, “Nothing important, just noting a few things down in my diary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, Tom totally grew out his hair because  
Harry made an offhand comment that he found long hair attractive.  
So, another quick update! I figured I should just publish it because its done and I really love hearing from you guys?
> 
> Thank you very, very much for all the kudoes and comments; I appreciate them greatly <3


	4. Love

Do you know how it _feels_ to be utterly and deeply in love with someone?

Tom did, he knew it excruciatingly well.

Fervid as a flame, scorching as the sun, higher than every mountain, vast as the ocean and uncontrolled like a hurricane; such was the love he felt.

His heartbeat bolted so fast he became dizzy, he couldn’t spare a thought to anyone or anything else. Breathing became hard, his body locked down, and he was struck by the desire to place his hands around their neck — so he could feel the pulse beneath.

Tom’s stomach lurched at the sight of his dear, propelling chunks of undigested feeling up his throat. Love proclamations spewed out of his coughing, choking mouth. And he would heave and heave until there was nothing but an empty pit left in him.

Yet, no words ever seemed enough - no act of devotion felt enough.

Not because his dear, precious and wonderful _Love _didn’t appreciate it. His Love was generous. Tom’s Love are the most important thing to him now. The most important thing to him ever. But sometimes, sometimes (_always_) the love he felt was so painful. Like it had swell beyond the capacity of one person — and maybe that was why he felt such a desperate need to get it out all the time, so it wouldn’t tear him up from the inside.

Falling in love, such a fitting description, Tom was definitive plunging; deeper and deeper, and it was becoming so dark and intense.

His wife, his lovely wife, no matter how much love he gave, only greedily demanded more. Her love was a trap with no chance of escape or bolting; and yet, in the end, he only received a briefly the chance to wonder — was it altruism that made her open the cage? Guilt? Or was it merely another demonstration of her arrogance? Had she actually deluded herself to believe he would stay? A caged, tortured beast can only react one way to freedom.

Blood dripped and strained their ugly carpeted in a lovely shade of red, he spared a moment to admire before continuing to mash her head into a nasty puddle. H-he…he couldn’t exactly remember why he was doing this.

His pulse was rushing.

His head was reeling.

His face was flushing.

This intense feeling of love still lingered, even as he took in the pink stew like substance in his fingers, it even had tomato sauce. He gave it a lick; too salty. Where was he, oh, yes, why did his wife….open what? The door maybe?

He glanced down to see her beautiful form. Such a stunning creature his wife! Look how dislocated her limps were, the lovely trail of blood her rolling left eye was making, and let’s not forget how gorgeous she looked on the wall, well part of her, at least.

“MOM!” A horrified voice called out behind him.

Oh, her son.

-

Tom Riddle Sr. had loved horses as a child, to the point of secretly harboring a dream to become a professional horse rider, though his mother insisted that it was below his station. As a teen, he spent countless hours improving his skills, and befriended a fellow horse lover, who he fell in love with. He had competed in some amateur competitions and proposed to the beautiful Cecilia after winning one. The plan was for them to get married in the summer, in an open field, riding horses to the alter (though, both were drunk when they come up with that idea). There had been many things he planned, desired and hoped. And yet, his life ended like it did. 

What happened to his companion, his horse Trooper? Ridiculous as it may seem, Tom Riddle Sr.’s last thought was a child-like prayer that his horse lived a good life after he left him.

-

_R.I.P_

_Merope Riddle_

_1963-1989_

When deciding what words to write on a tombstone, it is often recommended to take time to think about the deceased life and what they meant to those around them. Inscriptions such as ‘Here lies a beloved mother, wife, daughter’ would be appropriate in most cases, though some went further and added personal quotes. Perhaps something original or something the deceased loved. 

Merope’s headstone bore no such efforts, and neither were there any flowers despite it being the 10th anniversary of her death. The area around the gravestone was dirty and ill-maintained.

It showed a callous indifference towards the murdered woman, a confirmation of her insignificance and how little people cared. Poor, poor Merope.

“Ding dong, the witch is dead,” Elizabeth Riddle sneered.

The proud and dignified Elizabeth stood before Merope’s grave for the first time. While she did derive some pleasure from the pathetic sight it proved to be, it didn’t change the fact that joy was the furthest from what she was feeling. In fact, her entire face was sapped of any signs of happiness and glee, even the malicious kind.

Even now, a whole decade afterwards, hatred and enmity bristled in her heart, fury itself scorching her insides.

The wind tousled her hair, pulling forward occasional strands of blonde hair under the lifeless grey mane that limply framed her aging face. A disdainful glare was aimed at the gravestone.

“What a shame, it looks like your vile enhancements has no power beyond the grave,” she mocked, “Only _I_ showed up. And make no mistake, I came because I wanted to see you rot and to let you know you are still loathed.”

Soft footsteps could be heard behind her, the maker of the noise attempting to be quiet. Elizabeth held back a sigh, knowing without turning around exactly who it was. Tom stopped beside her, much taller than she remembered, his arms brushing against hers. They stood in silence for a moment, a pensive silence without any hostility.

Tom’s voice, when it came, was as mocking as hers had been, “This is a greater honor then you believe mother. You see, dear grandmother has not set foot in England in years, it only for you she has returned.”

He tilted his head to the side, meeting her bright, scrutinizing eye. In the five years since she'd last seen him, his face had matured, time lovingly carving the angle of his jawline and the planes of his face into a beautiful masterpiece. Elizabeth felt a lump in her throat, he looked so much like his father. Almost an exact replica, except the long dark hair, neatly tied back by a sliver serpent.

The presence of her grandson was almost a source of solace for the grieving woman, who had lost the one she had loved the most in the entire world. He was also a reminder of everything she loathed, but for a moment something resembling love won out.

Tom noticed, and a slow grin twisted his lips, carrying an impressively amount of malice. Far darker and crueler than any expression his father had ever worn. He said, “Perhaps grandmother found the decency, in her old age, and decided to finally pay her respect to her daughter-in-law?”

“I see the years among those filths has already demolished your intelligence, Tom,” Elizabeth matched his tone, “Perhaps you should cease to speak the human tongue, if nonsenses are all you are going to spurt.”

Her grandson laughed mirthlessly, “The only thing nonsensical here is you coming all this way to mock the woman your son murdered.”

Elizabeth’s upper lip curled in disdain, “That bitch took my son’s money, dignity, hopes and will. She tore him from those who loved him, would have died for him, and took and took from him until he no longer existed. That is worse than murder. The punishment she received was too mild for the crime.”

Tom’s face tightened at her words, a furious spark come to life in his dark eyes, and he sneered out, “What makes you so certain my mother used magic on my father? It seems to me you just have hard time accepting that he was a terrible murder. How convenient it must be for you to lay all the blame on my mother.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, the sheer audacity rendering her silent. He couldn’t _possibly_ believe that. And yet, her continued silence brought triumph into his eyes, as though he believed her reaction proved him right. 

She swallowed down the first wave of anger, and allowed it to brew into something seething. It soured with the satisfied smirk widening on Tom’s face, and mixed with years of bitterness. In the end, a very venomous response was crafted, one that would haunt Tom the rest of his life.

Elisabeth turned away from Tom, her eyes falling on a black-haired boy watching from a distance, he gave her a hesitant wave before shooting a worried look to her grandson. She glanced back to see Tom’s jaw tightened and his eyes flashed a warning at her.

Smiling, she fully turned back to him, sympathy lacing her voice, “Oh, Tom. I suppose it is natural for you to believe that. How could a creature such as yourself, spawn out of defilement and madness, possible hope to understand _love_?”

And with that, Elizabeth Riddle walked out of her grandson’s life once again.

-

_“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”_\- 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

What separates love from obsession? Are they mutually exclusive?

Someone once said falling in love is selfish process. It is all about how you feel, everything kind you do for the object of your affection is for your own gain. Lust is all about attainment pleasure for yourself. Greed, jealousy and control; is there any love story that dare claim to be free of these?

-

Harry was worried for him. That much was obvious. He seemed to have drawn his own conclusions from Tom’s confrontation with grandmother — rushing to his side the moment she left the scene. Hovering around him, ready to tend Tom’s wounds. When he laid his hand lightly on Tom’s shoulder, the young slytherin flinched, wishing nothing more than to flee from touch.

Elizabeth Riddle would derive immense pleasure of knowing her words had hit their mark. Such a devastating blow, pinpointing his deepest insecurities and immortalizing them by dragging them to the daylight. He should not have expected anything less from her. It was foolish to provoke her, he begrudgingly admitted to himself.

It was regrettable Harry witnessed the result; the naked pain her words caused. Tom had worked tirelessly to be seen as strong, and would never had allowed the newly Hogwarts graduate to come along if he had known the day would play out like this, even if it meant throwing away precious time together. Weakness inspires pity, not affection. He needed to pull himself together before he undid all his efforts.

“Hey, how about we go somewhere else? It is Saturday and you did receive permission to be out of Hogwarts all day, right? There is something I been meaning to show you,” Harry spoke with such a soft voice Tom felt more calmed by the sound than the content.

Tom nodded absentmindedly and Harry rewarded him with a blinding smile, then offered his hand. Tom found himself hesitating, unsure if he really could have that, before greedily grasping it anyway, enjoying the warmth and softness.

The world spun before they transported to a new destination. Harry didn’t let go of his hand, pulling him forward through what seemed to be a small village. They walked side by side along the quiet narrow road with cottages that reside on either side of it, a short way ahead a golden glow of streetlights indicated the center of the village, but Harry lead them another way.

Despite himself, Tom felt his curiosity piqued as they traveled closer to the edge of the village, wondering where Harry possibly could be leading them. Eventually, they reached a two-story building with a small gate and hedges surrounding the front yard. The right side of the top floor looked like it had been blown apart, and that really clued Tom into where they were.

“You…wanted to show me the house your parents were murdered in?” Tom asked, bemused. It not that he didn’t appreciate it — in fact, he had long wished to visit it, partly out of desire to see such a historical important place, but mostly because it was related to his Harry, thus a must see. And yet, it was odd for Harry to take him here, right? And, would it be socially acceptable to openly gush over the crime scene?

Harry laughed, a beautiful sound Tom always enjoyed, “Well, I guess? It sounds so weird put like that. But, the thing is,” he made an excited sound in the back of his throat, “It would be more accurate to say, that I’m showing you _my _new house.”

“You are moving out of your godfather’s house? I thought you loved it there,” Tom narrowed his eyes. Malfoy haven’t informed him of this, he would have to _remind_ Draco that graduating Hogwarts didn’t free him from his work. 

“Of course, I loved it there! Sirius is great,” Harry reassured him, “but this home belongs to my family, it was where I was supposed to grow up. Even if my last moments here was, um, unpleasant to say the least. I wanted to reclaim it, to live happily here. To not let Grindelwald take that from me.”

Bright, beautiful and burning; Tom had to glance away, one should never gaze directly at the sun. Harry, his wonderful Harry. How can such a person like him exists?

To his disappointment, Harry let go of his hand.

“Tom, “Harry said, sounding unusually nervous, before rushing out, “Move in with me.”

Once again Tom’s emotions turn jagged and his insides tight, pain seeping through his insides. He turned away from Harry. This was a disaster. He had yet fully secured Harry’s affections, though his work this year did much to stop Harry from seeing him as a younger brother, but one moment of vulnerability and he was a victim in Harry’s eyes again.

“I already have a house and need no charity, not to mention I still have two years in Hogwarts left,” Tom spat.

Hands snaked around his shoulders, pulling him to face the earnest eyes of Harry. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice when he spoke, “Tom, I don’t pity you. How could I? You are the strongest person I know,” he shot Tom a look that was equal part hurt and disappointed,” I think the world of you, that is why I-I, look I’m not good at wording myself, let me just-”

A frustrated sound escaped his lips. Harry seemed to give up and moved his hands to cupped Tom’s face gently in his hands, holding it in place. Tom’s breath hitched in his lungs as the older boy leaned in to drop a gentle kiss on his lips. He was too dazed to reciprocate, but found himself chasing after the softness when Harry pulled back.

“I care about you, Tom,” Harry pressed his forehead against Tom’s, “I want you to look forward to the holidays, and I know I would if you spent them with me.”

A shudder traveled through Tom’s body. This had to be a dream. He was meant to earn Harry’s love, had multiple plans running to drive the boy further into his arms, Harry couldn’t just offer it like Tom deserved it. Not now, not after everything.

This wasn’t real, Tom truly believed that, which is why he spoke the next words, “Harry, do you think there is something wrong with me? I-I’m capable of love, right?”

For he had justified everything for love. His love for Harry was so pure and strong that nothing he did in pursuit of it could be wrong. It was worth every heartache and every ounce of pain he or others experienced. If that love wasn’t the truest love that existed…what purpose had losing his parents served?

“You are not your father,” Harry said earnestly, tears brightening his eyes.

Tom laughed, a tad hysterically, that much was true.

He lifted his hand and placed it over Harry’s, who was still holding his face. Because he couldn’t resist, Tom leaned forward so his lips brushed Harry. Not softly, no, it was fervent and demanding. Tom’s hand moved to rest below Harry’s ear, his thumb caressing the older boy’s cheek as their breaths mingled. Harry let out an impatient sound before pressing his tongue against Tom’s lips, and quickly delved inside his mouth. He-they pulled each other closer until there was no space left between them and he could feel Harry’s heartbeat.

His grandmother was wrong, Tom knew love, he knew it excruciatingly well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter wasn't in the original plan, but I feel like it is important before concluding the story? So, here it is. I hope you guys like it.
> 
> Thank you very, very much for all the kudoes and comments; I appreciate them greatly <3


	5. Happy ever after

Sweet strains of classical music drifted through the crowd and the smell of fresh cut flowers filled the air. Someone remarked what a wonderful day it was and how much they had looked forward to it and many were quick to agree. Warm laughter echoed in the room and the atmosphere was friendly, almost everyone was smiling. 

“This is _ridicules_,” Draco muttered under his breath.

Pansy Parkinson, childhood friend and plus-one to this event, shot him a warning glare that conveyed an impressive amount of frustration. Unfortunately, it did not have its intended effect, for Draco’s anger increased with the implication that he should restrain himself.

His brows drew down in a scowl and he leaned closer to her, furiously whispering, “Come on. You’re think the same thing; this wedding is a sham!”

The wedding of Harry Potter and Tom Riddle had been a frequent conversation topic the last few months leading up to it. Former classmates and new acquaintance all wanted to be invited to what many believed would be the wedding of the year. Both grooms were well-known in the wizard community. The-boy-who-lived still enjoyed the fame he earned in his infant years, and his new position as professor of defense against the dark art also gained him a lot of respect.

Tom Riddle, handsome and brilliant undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, was an equally recognizable face.

Riddle was also the one that had extended the invitation to Draco, thus forcing the blonde to partake in this absurd affair, for one did not _reject _Tom Riddle. It could have been worse, Draco supposed, at least the unenviable position of best man went to his cousin, Orion Black. Then again, that prat probably saw it as an honor or something.

Draco thought he had come in terms with Riddle’s ridicules hold on everyone around him, but seeing Pansy acting so excited to attend this ceremony brought back memories of slowly losing the influence of his housemates to that Potter-obsessed git.

Stupid Scarhead, Draco inwardly seethed. To think Draco had wasted so much time secretly admiring his continuous rejection of Riddle all those years. Words can’t describe the glee Draco had derived from Riddle’s embarrassing pinning.

Blaise had once said that Potter’s obviousness could inspire homicidal tendencies, which Draco agreed with at the time, but hadn’t anticipated how true the words would ring only a couple years after they were uttered. Self-preservation prevented him from dwelling too much on that thought.

Anyway, the relationship between Potter and Riddle had often been debated in the Slytherin common room. The question, if Riddle would mellow down if he shagged Potter, was raised in one of the numerus parties Draco attended in Hogwarts. Completely smashed, Draco had revealed his distaste for the idea. He openly protested the wisdom of Potter involving himself with Riddle and even said, "If you see a Basilisk opening its jaws, you don't get your dick out!"

A comment that, regrettably enough, found its way to Riddle’s ears. Several years later, the memory of Riddle’s retribution still sent a shudder through Draco’s body.

Beneath Riddle’s fair façade was a monstrous malice and Draco couldn’t help but to wonder if Potter could see the ugliness hidden behind that veil of civility. If he was aware what exactly he was marrying, what life he was entering or what sins Riddle carried. The answer to those questions were obvious.

After all, Potter was getting married to Riddle, so ignorance was the only plausible explanation.

“I wish we were seated further ahead,“ Pansy sighed.

Draco didn’t dignify it with a respond, though he was very tempted to say something snide.

If he was feeling lenient, he might have excused her traitorous enthusiasm as a byproduct of the singularly focus The Daily Prophet had levelled at this wedding. Pansy always poured over the pages of gossip and scandal, lapping up every unsavory detail. And lately the newspaper had featured daily updates on Riddle and Potter’s wedding, thus creating a tremendous buzz and excitement around it.

Honestly, Draco half-suspected Riddle of having bought the newspaper, it would explain the uncharacteristic love it bore for him; gushing over his exploits and politic. Now, Draco (mostly) wasn’t hypocritical enough to judge Riddle if that really was the case, but he would criticize him for not having the bloody sense not to overdo it. Not to Riddle’s face, mind you, that would be stupid.

But back to the topic:

Despite Draco’s private protests and misgivings, the wedding went ahead. So, seated on the left side of the aisle - where all friends and relatives of Riddle sat - Draco continued to scowl.

The room buzzed with excited chatter that died down when the music stopped. All heads turned to face the far end of the walk when the opening to the bridal chorus started to play. Even Draco felt something other than annoyance, craning his neck above the crowd to get a better view.

The sight that greeted Draco baffled him completely. For it was not the grooms that entered, but rather Orion. This odd arrival was surprising enough in itself, but what really shocked the crowd was the state of his clothes; The pale, dark-haired youth was drenched in blood.

Draco watched in horror as Orion stumbled in without his usual grace. His younger cousin wore a wild look that that stirred up deep concern among the guest, and it was not long before someone stood up and grabbed his shoulder, asking him what had happened.

Orion just shook his head. Looking far more fragile than Draco had seen him for years, causing a protective instinct to flare back to life inside Draco. The blonde pushed his way through the crowd, determined to reach his younger cousin.

“Orion!” Draco called out, and Orion snapped his head to the sound, meeting Draco’s scrutinizing gaze. A mixture of relief and anxiety colored Orion’s face and Draco felt slightly comforted by the lack of pain in his expression.

When the blonde finally reached him, Orion immediately spoke;

“´T-Tom, it is Tom.”

Of course, _Riddle_ is the cause of this.

-

Many months earlier, Harry Potter woke up early and rolled out of bed, careful not to wake the man sleeping next to him. He moved quietly down the stairs to the kitchen, wearing a goofy kind of smile on his face that couldn't hide the joy that warmed him from within. For you see, he had big plans that day.

The excitement had kept him awake most of the night and Tom had even commented on it before they went to sleep. Harry had never been good at keeping secrets, so he had answered truthfully that he was looking forward to their anniversary - Tom’s smile was a small, precious sight.

Harry gave a sigh of bliss, they had been dating for five years now, and yet Tom still made him feel so wonderful.

Preparing breakfast had been a chore he resented when he lived with the Dursley’s, and Sirius’s bad-tempered house-elf had presented Harry with the choice of making something himself or suffer through the barely eatable substance the elf served. It was first when he made food for Tom, the sheer happiness that shone through the younger boy’s eyes, that Harry learned to enjoy cooking.

Today was a special day, so twenty-five minutes later Harry had pancakes, raspberries and freshly squeezed juice on the side. By the time, he got upstairs Tom was only just stirring. He laid the tray gently on the nightstand - mindful of the book laying there - and leaned in for a kiss, feeling a tingle spreading from his lips.

"Good morning,” Harry grinned to his sleeping love.

Tom blinked, his eyelids heavy with sleep, but it didn’t take long before he returned Harry’s smile. Sliding a hand behind Harry’s neck, Tom quickly pulled him into a more heated kiss, greedy as always. Harry felt himself melting against Tom, who proceeded to tug him into the bed, and Harry would have taken it further if not for the breakfast he put very much work in.

Pulling away, Harry said, “I made breakfast.”

"Good, I’m starving,” Tom purred. Heat lingered in his gaze, leaving no doubt what his intentions were.

Harry laughed and stroked Tom’s hair with his hand, “I woke up early to make this,” he couldn’t resist giving Tom another kiss, “We should eat it while it is warm.”

Tom hummed, then he straightened up back to a sitting position. He tilted his head to take in the breakfast tray, a look of appreciation settling on his face, “You’ve really out done yourself. It would be a shame to let this go to waste.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, although he was regretting the separation.

Tom, always obsessively aware of Harry’s modes, flashed him a wicked grin before snaking his arms around Harry’s waist. He was promptly seated at Tom’s lap, and he happily snuggled in closer and was rewarded with a kiss to the neck. Tom rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder as he reached out to grab a raspberry.

"I have a few more surprises after this," Harry said.

Tom smiled, “So have I.”

Later that day, Harry proposed to Tom, to which Tom hadn’t hesitated to say yes. He had after all spent months planting the idea in Harry’s head, even going as far as to plant marriage announcements in the paper.

Tom did however, postponed his own surprise until the wedding.

-

The Gaunt's Ring was an heirloom of the House of Gaunt, descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and the most valuable item Tom possessed. It represented his heritage, his pride and in some ways, himself. For you see, it was an ugly thing; faded gold and dirty black. It was nothing like the beautiful piece of jewelry Harry had given him as an engagement ring.

Tom could almost find the humor in the fact that he felt too ashamed to offer Harry it.

-

People always unconsciously seek what is normal for them. It makes no different if normal is stable contentment or destructive anxiety; We are comforted by what feels familiar and predictable. There is always a sense of unsureness that lingers when we feel something new. Like we can’t believe it is real, and sometimes we purposely sabotage it to reinforce the idea that it unsafe.

Tom had spent the last five years with Harry, but it would be a lie to say he spent them in bliss.

How could he when it could be taken away from him any moment? He had to stay vigilant every moment, look out for anyone wishing to steal what was his. It took tremendous about of subtle persuasion lead Harry down the path of Hogwarts professor - a place Tom had eyes, and more importantly, a Basilisk ready to purge the world of anyone getting too close to Harry.

Even his own job as a politician was chosen to better take care of their relationship. He needed to be someone known and respected so that no one thought that Harry was settling for someone below him. Also, he needed to still have a grip on his former housemates.

He had to take care not to lose Harry’s affection. Every day was spent balancing the act of showering him with love and presenting a dignified front; It wouldn’t do to seem to desperate. Arguments were kept to the minimum, and he took note of every piece of information he could get on Harry.

The results were that Tom knew Harry better than anyone, loved him more than anyone, but it was only in infrequent failures to suppress his own weakness that Harry caught glimpse of the horror that was Tom.

For the most part, Tom’s sickness was fully contained. He was determined to vanquish the horribleness inside him - passed on to him by his parents, nurtured by trauma and feed by his own cruel actions.

And-

Harry would never know - should never had known. Tom had been careful.

But as the wedding closed in, Tom was filled with so much anxiety. Thousands of thoughts swirled in his head and even as he plastered on a fake smile, all he could think about was how everything could be ruined.

That was why, he felt immense relief when he received a letter from his grandparents two hours before the wedding.

_‘Congratulation on your wedding’_

They knew he was getting married. They knew the date. They even knew the address.

It made things so simple. Tom was good at taking care of things that got in his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's pov lasted longer than expected, so an extra chapter it is, I'll assume you guys don't mind. Next chapter is definitive the last, most likely, maybe. 
> 
> So, anyway, I hope you guys liked this one! Thank you very, very much for all the kudoes and comments; I appreciate them greatly <3


	6. Dear Harry

_January 26, 1990._ _Dr. Relish journal notes on first meeting with __Tom Riddle._

_Patient is eight years old and tall for his age. He is oriented to person, place and time. His eye contact is piercing and he gives good formal contact, and very little emotionally contact. He is sullen child deeply traumatized by the end of his family and seems to express it by closing of. _

_Spoke very little throughout the whole meeting and took little comfort by the present of his grandfather. When briefly left alone with the child, he confessed that he didn’t really like his grandparents._

_“They are like father.” He had said._

_When asked to elaborate he glared at the undersigned. _

_“They don’t really want me.” The child mumbled._

-

The Riddle House was perched on a hill overlooking the village of Little Hangleton. It was easily the largest and grandest building for miles around. A beautiful manor that loomed proudly behind iron gates, flanked by rows of trees currently coated in gold and scarlet of the autumn days.

About two decades ago, a young woman by the name of Merope Gaunt stood just outside its threshold. As if created just to contrast the lovely sight before her, Merope was haggard, drawn and emaciated. Her hair- brown and a little greasy – was an uneven mess, while her teeth were yellow and crooked. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, but was actually barley twenty.

Few payed much attention to her, but considering the ridicule her family usually inspired, that might have been a blessing. It made her task easier at least.

Merope eyed the handsome manor house and the golden glow that seemed to surround it. She stared at it as she had done countless times before; entranced, and always, _always _envious. Sometimes simply taking in the splendor had been enough to sate the gnawing pangs of hunger coming from her neglected soul.

However, that was not the case that night. She would not settle with just peeking in through the window of another life. This time she would take what she wanted. This time love would conquer.

As the moment drew nearer - dawn quickly ebbing its way into daylight - all the reasons not to do this came flooding into the anxious woman’s mind. _I must_, Merope inwardly repeated, _I must or I might as well just die._

Cold sweat glistened on her furrowed brow and tears threatened to flood. The potion in her pocket felt impossibly heavy. It was not like she wanted to start her and Tom’s life this way. She understood it was a bit wrong, but they left her no choice! If the Riddle’s only gave her a chance…if they only allowed her to show them just how dedicated and loyal she could be to their family. She would shower Tom with love, be the most obedient wife, the most dutiful daughter-in-law.

They looked at her like she was dirt beneath their feet, like she was less just because she was unable to afford the lifestyle they had. Little did they know she came from a remarkable dynasty too. Her ancestor was **Salazar Slytherin**. Her Tom would understand she was worthy, if only given the chance to spend some time with her.

Merope took a shuddering breath and gathered her strength. Turning towards the iron gate that had kept her out her whole life, she pulled down the handle and pushed her way in. Behind her, the morning yawn of Autumn bathed the courtstone path in a golden light.

Beneath the sound of her thumping heart, Merope had a hard time hearing her own footfalls. Her face had turned a ghastly color - nearly white. Numbness wrapped itself around her.

Too often, Merope felt like there was an invisible veil between her and everyone else. The world changed and moved so fast but she didn’t. Instead she would pass through it slowly, like through murky water, and no one saw or heard her. Invisible. A ghost before she even hit the grave.

That description was more accurate that Merope would have guessed, for her memory haunted the Riddle house long after her deed.

Her presence was felt by the broken family left behind by her selfishness. It soured every interaction, twisted any semblance of love, and poisoned every heart. Her legacy was an aching felt in each of the remaining Riddle’s heart, one that ebbed and flowed like a cold tide, yet the pain never eased.

About two decades later after Merope, a young man by the name of Harry Potter stood just outside the mansion’s threshold. Unlike Merope, it was his first time viewing building. Unlike Merope, he didn’t pay its grandeur much attention. Unlike Merope, he wasn’t alone.

Unlike- or actually, in a way, they shared the same reason for seeking out the house.

Harry was also looking for a Tom Riddle; the man he loved higher than anything.

Behind him, Orion Black shifted uncomfortably, while giving the surrounding area an offended look. It was a common trait among the pureblood families, to find the idea of muggles possessing wealth offensive, to find it wrong. Be it by genuine ignorance or willful delusion, most of them was convinced muggles were primitive compared to the magic community.

With a note of incredulity in his voice, Orion asked, “What makes you think we’ll find Riddle here?”

“It is the only place I can think of,” Harry answered, working to keep the testiness from his voice.

He was still processing how what was supposed to be the happiest day in his life, turned into this worrisome mess. Harry had woken up with butterflies in his stomach this morning, feeling beyond excited for the wedding. He had kissed Tom goodbye, secure in the knowledge that the next time the saw each other would be when they were walking and-in-hand to the altar. The plan was that Sirius would knock on Harry’s door and get him when the time was right, and Harry patiently waited for it the moment Hermione and Ron left him.

He waited, and waited, but as minutes passed the tension in Harry grew. _Sirius should have been here by now_, Harry had thought. He filled himself multiple cup of water he had no intention of drinking and his eyes kept darting to the door. He picked up The Daily Prophet, only to throw it away seconds later. When his aggravation became high enough he moved to stand an inch from the front door, staring at it as if he could will Sirius to open it, visualizing his godfather’s mischievous smile as he apologized for being late and slyly adding that he would not keep Harry from his husband any longer.

And yet, when the door finally busted opened, Harry only received distressing news.

Tom had disappeared, he was nowhere to be found. For a horrible moment, Harry wondered if Tom had gotten cold feet right before the wedding and decided to runoff, but when he entered the room meant for Tom, he found a discarded congratulation card on the floor. It was from Tom’s grandparents and Harry –

Harry knew how…_dysfunctional_ the relationship between them was. It gave him a bit of hope to begin with; the possibility that Tom had gone to them. Anything seemed better that the option of abandonment – or so Harry thought.

“Shall we enter then?” Orion asked after the silence stretched on a little too long.

Harry turned his head towards the man Tom chose as best man. Truth was that Harry knew little of Tom’s friends, even though Tom occasionally invited them over to their house. Tom never seemed to care much for them, though by all accounts they adored him. Orion even insisted to come along Harry to search for Tom.

And yet, Harry had to say, “I think it best I continue alone from here on.”

“Oh?” Orion sneered, “You expect _me _to just skulk outside this muggle resident?”

  
Harry ran his hand through his hair, making it even messier than usual, before saying the words he knew would affect Orion the most, “I doubt Tom will not be pleased to see you.”

That did give Orion a pause, uncertainty entered his eyes.

Harry pressed on, “In fact, I reckon he’ll be pissed.”

“Fine, but don’t take too long,” Orion sighed, not at all pleased with the arrangement.

Harry shot him a grateful smile before taking a shaky breath and walked forward. It was strange how apprehensive he felt. Like he was about the walk into something horrifying. The feeling intensified as he passed through the gate and cautiously walked along the courtstones to the Riddle house, tendrils of weeds that had broken through the stones brushed the bottom of his pants.

When he finally reached the entrance, he paused for a moment before raising his hand and gently rattled his knuckles against the cold oak door. It lurched open. Harry’s ears resonated with the quiet squeal of the hinges as the hallway of the house became visible. He peered through the darkness, but found no one within it, making his stomach knot as wave of hesitation crashed over him.

“Tom?” Harry called out, but was meet with silence.

After debating with himself, he added, “I’m coming in,” before lifting an unsteady leg and stepped into the house.

The hallway was large, airy and eerie. An uneasy breeze blew down the corridor and grasped Harry with it chilly touch. Gryffindors don't run away from their fears, so Harry pressed on bravely (why did he need to be brave?). The sound his footfalls echoed from the walls as he exited the hallway and entered large room. At the center of the new area was a set of stairs that ascended a total of about five feet. The stair was wide enough at the bottom that several people probably could stand on it. It was very grand, Harry thought, before turning his attention to the door in the right corner. It had been left ajar, allowing a golden glow to meander like a narrow stream across the room.

Naturally, Harry moved to investigate. Stopping up right before the door, he asked, “Tom? Are you there?”

When there was no reply, he pushed the door fully open, and entered what seemed to be a small library. Bookshelves lined the walls and Harry could see row upon row of books, some even stacked in piles on the floor.

Harry almost missed the dark silhouette standing in front of window; the bright daylight making it hard to entirely see the features of the figure standing there, yet Harry immediately knew it was Tom.

His fiancé remained silent, as though not having noticed Harry coming in. As Harry eyes adjusted to the light, he took in the sight of almost-husband. Tom had his back turned at him and seemed to be wearing his weeding robs. There was no, as far as Harry could tell, signs of injured or anyone else in the room.

Feeling a bit like a broken record, Harry said, “Tom?”

Said man turned his head to the side, and while Harry still couldn’t make out Tom’s face, he felt Tom’s stare like a weight.

“Harry,” Tom spoke softly, a smile lingering in his voice.

A surge of confidence started to form after Harry heard Tom’s friendly tone. It was strange of him to feel so apprehensive. Sure, the situation was odd enough for him to have questions, but there was no need to be frightened.

“Is it not bad luck for groom to see bride before wedding?” Harry said with equal parts humor and unease, “Well, the other groom in this case. “

A rich, dark chuckle left Tom, before he turned his whole body toward Harry. Since Tom was blocking most of the window, the light behind him only served to broaden his shadow. The effect was a Tom-shaped darkness engulfing the room. It made him look very ominous.

“Then again, at this rate, we’ll miss the wedding anyway, “Harry blabbered nervously.

“My apologies,” Tom said, “I lost track of time.”

“Erm,” Harry responded eloquently, glancing around the room again, a bit confused what could have occupied Tom enough for him to become late his own wedding. Biting his lips, Harry decided to go to the heart of the matter. “Where are your grandparent?”

It was hard to tell for sure, but Harry thought he saw Tom’s lip twisted oddly, as if he was trying to smile or grimace maybe, “Gone, I’m afraid.”

“Gone?” Harry repeated stupidly, unsure what else to say.

Tom gave him a sharp nod before stalking towards him. Startled, Harry stepped back, an action that did not go unnoticed if Tom’s sudden halt was any indication. Tom turned statue like, and away from the window Harry could see how pale he looked. Traces of weariness sat upon his noble and handsome features. And almost against Harry’s will, sympathy surged up in him.

Harry took the steps to close the distance between them and wrapped an arm around Tom’s shoulders and pulled him close, gently rubbing his arm. Tom melted into the embrace and hugged Harry tightly, kissing the top of his head. Ear pressed against Tom’s chest, Harry could hear the calm beating of Tom’s heart. Everything would be okay, right?

“I’m glad you came, “Tom whispered, “It saves me a lot of time not having to track you down.”

Harry pulled away far enough to look at Tom, craning his head a bit, and saw that Tom’s expression was softer than he ever remembers seeing. Tom’s hand found its way to Harry’s hair, threading his fingers through his curls. Looking utterly besotted, and yet unnervingly resolute.

“Harry, my dear Harry, “ Tom’s dark eyes drank him in greedily, “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

The worshipping tone surprised Harry, Tom was not cold per say, but he was more often than not a bit reserved with his affection. It felt like Harry was seeing other side of him; an intense side threating to consume him.

“You are such a blinding sight. Being with you allows me to push away reality in favor of the most lovelies dream.” Tom’s grip tightened, “Over the years I have learned to lust after your presence like no other. My feelings were so strong they felt like cure to all my problems."

Unease circled its fingers around Harry’s body, tenderly caressing every inch of him. His voice cracking when he said, “I-I don’t understand.”

Tom looked down at him as one might do to a distressed child; comforting, gentle and a bit condescending. “I know.”

Harry tried to shrug out of Tom’s iron grip, but the younger man didn’t let him go. Tom laughed without a trace of humor, “No matter what I do, something always get in the way, and I can’t erase the whole world.”

Tom suddenly let him go and Harry stumbled backwards, he barely managed to spat out, “What the actually fu-“

Before -

“Oblivion.”

-

_Mars 29, 1990._ _Dr. Relish excerpt from conversation with __Tom Riddle._

_Patient opened up to day to speak more about a subject that had previously lifted his mood considerably. Throughout the many sessions, the patient has often hinted having a close friend who was very dear to him._

_Do you keep contact with your friend? _

_“No.”_

_Do you wish to?_

_“…not before….”_

_Before what?_

_“Not before I’m certain he’ll like me.”_

_What makes you think he wouldn’t now?_

_No answer was given. _

-

“Did you hear what happened on Potter and Riddle’s wedding?”

“No? I wasn’t invited.”

“Apparently, Orion Black busted in full of blood, no one knows what to make of it.”

“Oh! Oh! Well, my sister told me that Riddle was brought into St Mungo's Hospital, but it not common knowledge yet so don’t tell anyone else.”

Many speculations on what happed buzzed through the public until The Daily Prophet updated the public on what really happened.

Rita Skeeter wrote a very riveting article about the tragedy that befall Brittan’s favorite couple: A group of old Grindelwald supporter had caught wind of the wedding and had decided to take their revenge on the Savior himself.

A fierce battle toke place unknown to the people attending, a battle that had many casualties. Fortunately, none of the conspirators survived, no doubt a testimony to the skills of both Riddle and Potter. And yet, the wounds Potter sustained proved to be lethal and it is said he died in his fiancé’s arms. Riddle didn’t escape unscratched either, spending a long time in St Mungo's to recover.

Poor man has not been the same after losing his fiancé. Rumors has it he is planning to move from Brittan.

-

_“February 14, 1991. Tom Riddle letter assignment._

_Dear Harry,_

_I have never written a letter before, but it seems right that my first should be to you. Even if you’ll never receive this. Dr. Relish nags that I can contact you if I want, but I don’t want you to meet me while I’m in asylum. Not that I’m here all the time. Anyway, our reunion deserves better. _

_ I think about you a lot, more than anything else. Or, at least, I try to. My thoughts are much happier when they are about you. And if just thinking of you can make me happy, I wonder what being with you will be like?”_

The corner of Tom’s lip twisted upward as he read the letter he wrote for what felt like a lifetime ago. He had never thought of himself as naïve or childish, but the evidence was proving him wrong.

He was not his mother; The love of his obsession would not sate him. Nor could he ever dare to use magic to bind his love to him, the option always left a sour taste in Tom’s mouth.

Love was a weakness, that much was obvious, and clinging to it had made him pathetic. He realized that the moment after killing his grandparents, when the painful emptiness arrived. He killed his father, his grandfather and his grandmother. His mother and uncle died by someone else’s hand, but it didn’t change the fact that they were six feet underground.

Death, death, death.

Nothing he ever did eased his pain, not for long anyway.

He glanced down on the sleeping form to his Harry, the person that had caused so much pain and happiness in his life. Tom understood that it was futile to start a life together, and yet it was hard to let him go. Harry felt like part of, one he would need to shed. And what better way to do that than with his mortality and emotions.

Splitting one’s soul would irrevocably change a person, and Tom was curious who he would be after. Tom ran his hand gently down Harry’s cheek, a loving caress as he gazed at him. Indecisiveness hit him as tried to say his goodbyes to the love of his life.

Death, death, death.

The plan was to use his death to create Tom’s first Horcrux, a day Harry would leave too, by death or choice. That was why did seemed like such a good idea, this way Harry would always be with him in way. His death would wrap Tom with protection and take with him all Tom’s weaknesses.

However, suddenly that seemed like such a waste, thought that might be Tom getting cold feets.

But – what if, he could help but to wonder, What if…..Harry became his Horcrux instead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, killing your grandparents right before your wedding could put some in a weird mood. Though at least they make good dummies for fake terrorist attacks.
> 
> The story has ended, hopefully it doesn't seem to abrubt, I might write a sequel one day, but the somwhat ambiguous ending is intensional. 
> 
> Hehe, in case anyone is wondering, Harry would totally be like "The rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated." If a sequel is ever produced.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this, and thank you very much for all the support! I greatly appreciate it and would, as always, love to hear what you think about this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Harry Potter and romance fanfic, so I'm a bit uncertain if I'm getting it right. Reviews fuel me and pushes me to write, so please let me know your thoughts!


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